


Hart's End

by Ilthit



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gothic, Inheritance, Marriage Proposal, Murder, Regency, Seasonal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 04:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21332086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: After the death of Ada's uncle, a legal tangle involving some dubious tax evasion has left his estate toher--or, more specifically, to her future husband.
Relationships: Female Heir to a Large Estate/Male Cousin Who Wants Her Inheritance, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Shipoween 2019 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Hart's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).

"Please do not bother with pleasantries, Henry. I would be obliged to be treated as a person of some intelligence."

Ada's cousin Henry reposed in the arm-chair opposite her in the east drawing-room, the smile upon his lips as faint and false as the black silk embroidery on his waistcoat shimmering in the candle-light. "Very well. So you know why I am here."

"I know more than that. Your gambling habits..." 

Henry waved a hand. "Nothing I cannot pay."

"That unfortunate shipping venture you invested in..."

"I do still confidently expect the arrival of that final ship."

"Your _extraordinary_ tailoring bill."

"Ah. There you have me." Henry folded his hands over his knees, long fingers resting tip-to-tip. Ada bit down on her tongue to keep the fierce expression fixed upon her face. She must not let him make her smile.

Henry had a darkness about him, quite beyond that of your usual grasping, dissolute rake. There had been times in their childhood, especially after he had returned from school the year they had both turned thirteen, that he had scared her. When he was drinking, he could say the vilest things. By the latest estimate--provided by Ada's well-meaning friends, many of whom took upon themselves to know the business of everybody who mattered in Kent, and London and Bath besides--he had fought in as many as six duels, and killed a man in one. 

And yet a part of her saw in him only her childhood playmate grown up into a tall, sleek man, with fox-like features that some, she supposed, found handsome. He was Henry--just Henry.

And now, after the death of their uncle, a most extraordinary legal tangle involving some dubious tax evasion had left his entire estate to _her_\--or, more specifically, her future husband.

Hart's End, the imposing old house with its myriad wings and improvements added over the centuries, its pipes that cried like lost children in the night. The grounds that stretched out from its steps in rolling waves, tortured into a form prescribed by Capability Brown. The village of Hart's Gallows, with its ancient stone huts, and the land scarred by ox-hooves and ploughs; the people, the sick and the poor, the criminal and the virtuous. The church spire rising above it all like an admonishing finger. All hers.

The season would be upon them soon, and her mourning would likewise be coming to its appropriate end. She would be expected to appear in London in the latest styles, ready to be snapped up by some handsome or self-important fellow who probably had no better record of personal virtue than Henry did. Ada found she did not care for the latest styles or for grand balls, and had rejected letters from a number of dress-makers in the past month. And yet the season loomed, bitter winds and slashing rain constant reminders of the oncoming winter. 

She folded her fingers in imitation of Henry's. It had been a habit of their uncle's, she recalled; it had inevitably preceded a pompous declaration, some self-aggrandizing nonsense his little nephew and niece had laughed about behind his back. How amusing that they should both have adopted it since. "You are not my heir." 

"No." Of course he would have checked and double-checked the law. "There is a case to be made, no doubt--but I shouldn't trust my fate on the fickleness of solicitors. I know of a fellow who is still owed a small fortune from a case opened in seventeen-thirty."

Her lips tightened. "And there is, after all, an easier way, isn't there?"

Henry shifted forward on his chair, his ankles in their fine stockings crossing as he leaned in towards her. "Ada, dear girl, why _not_ marry me? Would I really be such a terrible husband?"

"Yes," answered Ada, turning her face away from him. 

"Worse than some stranger off the marriage market?"

She hesitated. 

"I may be a devil, but a devil you know." She started as she felt his gloved hand touch hers. "And there is a little devil in you, too, isn't there?" 

Their eyes met, flint on flint. Henry picked up Ada's hand and cradled it between his like a bird. She did not pull it away.

Her uncle's hand had been cold, that last time she had held it. She remembered its weight in her hand as she'd reached up with her handkerchief to wipe the green froth from his lips. 

She lifted her chin. He had not quite won yet. But... "I will consider your proposal and reply by letter." She stood up before she would have to address the hope dawning in his expression, and pulled the bell-rope. "It is late. Thornby will show you to your carriage." 

"'Til our next conversation, then, madam." He brushed past her, and the sensation of his breath on her neck made her skin prickle. 

Perhaps he was right, her cousin Henry with his darkness and his airs and his blades at dawn. Perhaps some things were best kept in the family.


End file.
